Saving Grace
by PaperFrames
Summary: If it comes down to choosing between his unborn daughter and the love of his life, he'd rather find a way to sacrifice himself in their place. AU set in the same world as my previous fic "It's My Party."


A/N: So this is a somewhat earlier birthday present and also coercion from my friend Jackie. This takes place in the same world as my fic "Its My Party". It's actually a prequel-prequel to it. But, here's the quick rundown if you're too busy to read that.

[Instead of Kurt, Olivia ended up in a relationship with narcotics cop/one time one-night-stand, Brian Cassidy. They (Bensidy) snuck around for roughly 6 months. Meanwhile, Elliot and Kathy's marriage rapidly flamed out, and both parties willingly conceded to divorce. It wasn't until Kathleen became sick and Elliot leaned heavily on Olivia that the two managed to come together. Their relationship started in October 2008, their daughter was born in June of 09.]

And I'm really trying on updating everything I need to update aka Strawberry Wine. I've hit a horrendous road block of writer's block with that. I know what I want to write, but I just can't see to write it. Sigh.

This is part I, and they're probably be two parts, including a "smexy" flashback of how we got little Gracie.

Lyrics are from Kate Bush/Maxwell's "This Woman's Work"

Oh, if you'd like, you can now follow me on twitter where I spend 95% of my time threatening to fight my love LucySpencer and the other crying over EO. You can find me at thepaperframes.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Saving Grace

He wakes up from a dead sleep to find himself alone. The spot next to him where Olivia usually rests (or rather tosses and turns, complaining of discomfort) is barren. The rough pads of his worn hands reach out next to him in a feeble attempt to gauge the mattress temperature. If it's lukewarm, she's sitting in the bathroom complaining about swollen feet; if it's more on the colder end, she's in the kitchen, eating everything. But as Elliot's fingers grasp the thin cotton of the lavender need sheet, he finds it ice cold. As if she hasn't been in bed all night.

Blue eyes blinking hard against the lack of light in their bedroom, he nearly falls out of bed as he scrambles to his feet. Fear floods his body. She's 8 months pregnant, the size of a small house, and battling preeclampsia.

"Liv?" Fear rides high in his tone. An ominous feeling creeps up his back.

"Olivia!"

A beat passes and there's no answer. Their apartment consists of a total of four rooms and a closet big enough to house a bassinet and changing table for the time being; she should be able to hear him.

"Sonofabitch." He hisses to no one in particular and frantically pulls on his T-shirt. Tired knees moving too quickly he begins the hunt for his pregnant girlfriend.

The bathroom is empty.

Her familiar bump is missing from in front of the refrigerator.

"Liv! Come on Olivia."

He rushes over to the light switch and flicks it on, and finds her, collapsed in a heap on the floor between the sofa and coffee table. The rose pink afghan the usually rests over the back of the couch is tangled around her legs and she's holding onto her belly. Sweat beads glisten her hairline and her breathing is laboured, forced.

"LIV!"

He falls to his knees immediately, throat constricted by the wave of tears he can't seem to fight. His mind immediately assumes the worst. This is her first child, his sixth this can't be happening right now.

"Come on, Liv…" He whispers as he pushes the table away from her and gently, guiding her neck, turns her toward him.

She's crying and her teeth are chattering, her lips are a deep red; words barely audible as she squeaks out a soft, "El. The baby. Ple...hel...it hurts..."

Can't panic, can't panic. _Don'tpanicdon'tpanicdon'tpanicdon'tpanic._ Do NOT panic. Elliot berates himself as his shaky fingers find her pulse point. Instead of the normal rap, rap, rap of her heart, he finds it slow and languid. As if she's forcing herself to breath.

"Where does it hurt, honey? Where?"

"My sto-stomach. It hurts . . . so . . . bad."

Olivia's body shakes as the words push from her lips. Her slender fingers twist into the material of her cerulean blue cotton camisole. His eyes fall to her lower half and that's when he sees it, soaking through the plaid blue and pink of her shorts - she's bleeding. Blood is smudged along her inner thighs and she sides of her hands.

Don't panic.

"I need to call an ambulance, Liv, honey. Okay? We need to get you to a hospital. Now."

Against his thigh she nods, eyes clenched shut as what he fingers is another cramp riddles her body and she lets out a gut-wrenching moan.

"Please don't - don't le - let. The baby. Please…Save our daughter."

Her pleas rip his heart in half.

"I promise you, Liv," whispering, he leans forward, his chin pressed to her forehead; her skin is clammy and sweat drenched.

He rushes to his feet, careful as to not disturb her, and makes his way back into the bedroom. For a moment he contemplates just picking her up off the ground himself, not risking the wait for an ambulance. But he decides against it. He's not a trained medical professional and knows that, if he choses to move her, rush down a flight of stairs carrying her, he will probably do more harm than good.

His phone is in his hand and he nearly breaks his cellphone punching in the numbers on the touch screen.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"This is Detective Elliot Stabler, Manhattan SVU; badge number 6313, I need a bus at 203 West 89th Street, apartment 4D for a Detective Olivia Stab- Olivia Benson. Badge number 4015. She's eight months pregnant and -" his voice cracks. "She's cramping and bleeding. I don't think she can stand."

On the other end of the road he can hear the operator tinkering away on some type of switchboard. There's a black of keys a few beeps and the disembodied voice replies, "there's a unit in your area, about six blocks east. They'll be there shortly."

/

Life without her isn't worth living. He's come to the decision as he sits under the sterile hospital lights in the delivery waiting room.

His elbows dig into his knees as he shakes his legs, head bowed. It's all he can do to stop himself from kicking a hole in the nearest wall.

Somewhere in this hospital his best friend, girlfriend, and better half is in emergency c-section labour.

_Placenta abruption. Save our daughter. Complications with preeclampsia. Save our daughter. C-Section. Save our daughter. Are you the father? Save our daughter. Sir you have to wait outside. Save our daughter. _

And he feels useless.

Olivia's in the fight of her life, and he's sitting in a waiting room staring at the white tiles he's resorted to counting to keep his mind from going to the worst case scenario. Two people who mean the world to him could die tonight.

The thought alone shatters his heart. Life without Olivia isn't worth living. It'd taken them damn near ten years to get to this point; ten years of tearing each other down, building each other up; hating each other and loving each other. He can't lose her now. Not now when it was all just beginning.

But he can't lose his daughter - their daughter - either. Forty-two years. That's how long Olivia's waited for her chance at motherhood; he's been a father since the early 80s. It isn't fair. Everything in this world he considers to be good, is Olivia. From sunshine to Eskimo kisses, frothy hot chocolate and children's giggles; Olivia encompasses it all. He'd never been able to truly feel her love, let himself wallow in it; let it take him away until a year ago. Her selflessness saved his daughter - and him. More than anything, she deserves a chance to her own child; the chance to run her fingers through the brown curls he's certain their daughter will have; snuggle with the bundle of pure untainted innocence; and breathe in the smell that is uniquely baby.

She doesn't deserve to be sliced open, barely lucid, while a doctor possibly debates whose life is worth more, baby or mother.

Next to him his eldest daughter clears her throat, the sound grabbing Elliot's attention. Between her fingers she holds an opal rosary that he recognizes as a gift from her grandmother - his mother - from her confirmation. She's been sitting there for the last hour with him, whispering Hail Mary's and holding his hand every now and then, waiting for the rest of the cavalry to arrive.

"Daddy," Maureen starts, threading one of her smaller hands into his. "Liv's gonna make it through this. You have to believe that. Plus, the medical advancements that…"

Elliot nods his silent agreement, tuning out his daughter's words, eyes to the ceiling. Silently he negotiates with God.

_Take me instead. Don't take my girls. Don't do this to Liv. Please, just let her have her daughter. Our daughter._

* * *

_I'll stand outside, _

_This woman's work_

_This woman's world _

_Oh it's hard on the man_

_Now his part is over_

_Now starts the craft of the Father_


End file.
